


Vacant Winter

by lait_tea1



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, F/M, Nagamas 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lait_tea1/pseuds/lait_tea1
Summary: Of loss, grieving and a return.
Relationships: Teeta | Tatiana/Zeke
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5
Collections: Nagamas Gifts





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dt75Art](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Dt75Art).



> This is my Nagamas gift for @Dt75Art on Twitter. I'm not great with angst, so it's kind of cliche – but I did my best with writing something that hopefully does Zeke justice (and of course I had to include a happy ending after spending too long getting lost in Tatizeke fics, because they're so cute). Merry Nagamas, and I hope you like it!

Jerome had hardly given the report another look before he thrust another stack of papers at him. “Sort this one out too.”

Zeke had to fight to keep his expression perfectly neutral. “This is the fourth report I’ve completed today.” Then, as an afterthought: “You’ve insisted all of these were of the utmost importance, yet I find myself doubting how many reports can be that important.”

 _And the fact you haven’t even opened the first one._ It still lay on Jerome’s desk, untouched, next to the two others he had completed after it.

“It is not your place to _doubt_ , General Ezekiel.” Jerome sniffed and examined the quill in his hands. “I am your superior officer – you do what I say, yes? Go on now, stop bothering me. I have actual work to be doing.”

The tip of the quill hadn’t even been dipped in ink.

Zeke took a deep breath past his building irritation and kept his eyes focused on Jerome’s desk until the paper and ink blurred together into a smear of grey. Then he exhaled shallowly through his nose and lifted his eyes again to meet the man’s gaze.

Jerome had already turned away from him to shuffle through the papers on his desk.

While his back was turned, Zeke spared a glance out the window. The sky outside was a dusty purple, hazed over with grey. Snow flurried past the window as a particularly fierce gust of wind hammered against the glass: a coming snowstorm, they’d been warned, possibly preventing travel and trade for a couple of days. Which also prevented any travel to and from the military base, meaning that it was twice as important that he left before Jerome trapped him here for the next week.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve already completed all my reports in preparation for the next few days, so anything I do now is–” 

_Unnecessary_ , he wanted to say, but settled with “–extra.”

Then, in some pointless attempt to appeal to Jerome’s magnanimity – which was a foolish endeavour, because if Jerome had compassion for anyone around him, he wouldn’t be _stealing_ from the people they had sworn to protect: “And I should return home before the blizzard sets in, so I am… able to keep watch over the village.”

 _And return home, back to Tatiana,_ he wanted to say, but pointing that out to Jerome was likely not a good idea.

“Afraid of a little blizzard?” Jerome sneered, turning back around to face him. “No surprise there. Whatever blood runs through your veins certainly isn’t Rigelian… I honestly don’t understand what Emperor Rudolf sees in someone like you.”

It wasn’t the worse insult he’d heard. Zeke didn’t really care about what Jerome thought of him anyway.

The silence stretched out.

Jerome huffed. The only sign of his displeasure was the narrowing of his eyes and creasing of his brow; then his expression relaxed again.

Wordlessly, Jerome dipped the quill in the pot of ink on his desk.

Then, with an almost elegant flourish, he flicked the quill up into his palm with a turn of his wrist; stray droplets of ink scattered across the front of Zeke’s coat. A drop began a steady trickle down the back of his hand.

Zeke pursed his lips but did not move.

“Besides,” Jerome continued, voice dripping with disdain, “It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

A fleeting thought; of dear, sweet Tatiana, busying herself with the stove, welcoming him home with a warm smile and a kiss as she always did, avidly retelling all sorts of tales from her day around the village. An angel sent by the gods, he liked to say, before she flustered and waved him off while mumbling into her hands about ‘smooth-talking her’.

He wasn’t willing to deal with Jerome any longer than he had to.

Zeke met Jerome’s gaze steadily. “I’m leaving.” He said curtly, turning on his heel. He was halfway across the office before he heard something slam against the table.

He turned again. Jerome was standing, seething, palms flat on the desk. “You don’t leave until I tell you to.” Jerome snapped, face red. “And I said–”

“I know perfectly well what you said, and it is unreasonable.” Zeke replied coolly.

And perhaps it was the fact that he was exhausted from a long day’s work and of Jerome pushing him around, or perhaps it was because he wouldn’t have to see Jerome for the next couple of days thanks to the snowstorm, but he was speaking before he could think: “And you are in no position to hand me more work when you’ve done nothing but lounge and shove all of your work on me.”

There was a tiny note of satisfaction deep in his chest at the way Jerome’s eyes bulged and his mouth fell open.

Zeke didn’t wait for Jerome to get back his ability to speak and strode out of the office.

Nobody came running after him. Nobody stopped him either on his way to the stables, though a couple of Jerome’s soldiers gave him nasty looks – though they probably didn’t know what had happened in Jerome’s office – while his men quickly saluted him. He waved them off too, dismissing them as well: if Jerome wanted his reports done, then he could ask somebody under his own command.

The snowstorm had already filled the dusk sky with a cloak of white. Zeke led his horse out and swung himself onto its back.

“Let’s go home.”

-x-x-x-

The blizzard had made it near impossible to see, but they made it home safely. Zeke untacked his horse in the stables and made sure to pile on extra blankets for the exceptionally cold weather. He checked that there was enough food, water and straw – it looked like Tatiana had done that for him, he would have to thank her later – before stumbling back into the comfort of his home.

The house was warmer than the outside, but not as much as he’d expected. It was dark, too; the fireplace was dim, though there was wood piled up in front of it, and it was unusually quiet. Tatiana’s coat and shoes were gone from their respective racks, and the basket she had left on the table this morning was nowhere to be seen.

 _She must have gone to the market,_ he concluded, though a pang went through his heart at the sight of the seething snowstorm outside. _I hope she comes back sooner rather than later – it’s already dangerous to be out and about at this time._

He was certain Tatiana wouldn’t let herself freeze to death out there, though; she was already incessant enough with making sure he had enough layers on each morning when he went to work. So he pushed his worries aside for time being ( _she’s lived here longer than I have, so she should know how to handle herself in these weathers_ ) and focused on his next task: the fact that this gave him the opportunity to surprise her.

Zeke smiled to himself at the thought; she would be certain to be delighted with a warm fire and perhaps some hot tea, if he could find her kettle and figure out how to use it without burning himself again.

The fire was easy enough to light. As its warmth spread through the chilly house, Zeke headed into the kitchen and managed to extract Tatiana’s favourite kettle from between all the pots and pans in the shelf and get the stove started.

He wandered upstairs and took a glance through their room. There was the chance that Tatiana had ended up falling asleep in between dusting down the house, though he wasn’t surprised to see the bed empty.

He decided to grab the bottle of champagne he had stored under the bed for special occasions, if they ended up finishing the tea; the snowstorm likely meant that he would have a couple days off from, at the very least, seeing Jerome, which called for a celebration in itself… at least to him.

 _But even without a special occasion, it would be nice to finally have some time to spend with Tatiana._ He’d had been kept up late for the last couple of days with all sorts of work Jerome had pushed on him, after all, and he scarcely recalled a time when he had been able to help her around the home – it had always been Tatiana receiving him and cooking dinner for them and spoiling him with her affection…

 _I should return the favour, at least._ He was already looking forward to it; even if it meant burning his fingers at the stove a couple times (again). _…I wonder what sort of breakfast I can make her tomorrow?_

He walked down the stairs to see a figure at the stove.

A figure who was distinctly not Tatiana.

Zeke dropped the bottle and lunged for his sword.

Nuibaba was gone before he could even take a swing at her head. She was already halfway across the room without even having taken a step, a coy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“The water was boiling over. I only switched off the stove for you.” She said, almost sounding playful. Then she shook her head and laughed. “You truly are hopeless without your darling Tatiana here, aren’t you?”

His hands were shaking, but not out of fear of her. He tried to steady his breaths and compose himself, but the fact Nuibaba was _in his house_ , and the fact she _knew where Tatiana was_ –

“Where is she?”

Already, his eyes were sweeping across her features; _Does she look any younger? She hasn’t eaten her– she hasn’t…_

Nuibaba laughed and fanned herself. “My, your eyes are so intense. I didn’t expect you to be so…”

His face flushed with anger. “Shut up! I’m not–”

_She’s riling you up, she’s provoking you–_

Nuibaba smiled.

Zeke took a shuddering breath and fixed her with a glare. “Where is she?” He repeated, lifting his sword again.

“She? You have to use your words, dear. I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“You just sai– you know exactly what I mean.”

Nuibaba laughed. Instead of answering, she began a slow, languid pace, circling around him almost as if she were a panther and he the prey.

Zeke slammed a foot against the ground and jabbed his sword at her. “I _said_ : where is she?”

Nuibaba’s amused facade cracked for a moment. She spun around, heels clacking against the wooden floor in a sharp noise – like the sound of a bone snapping – and turned on him a piercing glare of her own.

“I’m already in a foul mood, boy; I’ve had enough of your precious Tatiana trying to fight back against me – the wench even tried tearing my eyes out like some kind of animal. Do you know how close I came to tearing into her pretty little soul right then and there? Another step out of line and you _really_ won’t ever see her again.”

Zeke’s blood ran cold.

“That’s right, _Zeke_ ,” Nuibaba all but purred, twirling something in her hand, “I did take her. And where were you, when hapless, sweet Tatiana was screaming your name? Oh, poor girl… not even her darling Zeke was there to protect her.”

Nuibaba lifted her hand and something slipped from between her fingers. Zeke’s next breath was seized from his throat at the sight – strands of seafoam green hair, dull and lifeless and jagged at the ends, as if slashed off in chunks with crude claws.

 _Tatiana – she…?_ He could hardly imagine it; no, scratch that, he could imagine her fear almost perfectly. Heart hammering in throat, words strangled from her throat, frantic, terrified – it took him a moment to realise that it was his own dread was creeping up his own throat like leaden sludge and choking off whatever he had been about to say.

His limbs refused to obey him, his arm lying heavy and slack by his side. Even the hand holding his sword felt like it had turned to stone, or his blood to ice; numb and unfeeling and frozen in place. Yet Nuibaba hadn’t lifted a hand; there was no reek of dark magic in the air; no soot, or smoke, or anything.

Zeke swallowed – even that was like he was trying to choke down solid ice instead of air – and managed to quench his fear in anger and bare his teeth. “You–!”

Nuibaba tsked. “Now, now, you only brought this upon yourself, dear.”

_What…?_

“You may be Emperor Rudolf’s favourite, yes, but you shouldn’t go around harassing and bothering your superiors like that!” She almost sounded like she was chastising him. It was oddly familiar in a horrifyingly chilling way.

“Especially because you’re just an amnesiac foreigner with nothing. No past, no…” Then Nuibaba sighed, and shook her head. “Oh, I think I’ll spare us both the boredom of Jerome’s speech and just get straight to the point.”

_Jerome – this is… Jerome’s doing?_

The fury that he had mustered simply died out in a hiss of smoke. _What I said to him today – it couldn’t… it couldn’t have been the cause of this…_

Nuibaba came to a stop in front of him and lifted a hand. Her nail traced the line of his neck almost tenderly, coming up to press against his lower jaw and beneath his chin.

“It’s a simple deal, really. You do as Sir Jerome says, and no harm befalls your darling Tatiana.”

Zeke swallowed and tried to speak, but all that came from his mouth was a thin, airy noise.

“You… what do you… what do you gain from this?” He managed to choke out.

“Oh? Aside from a beautiful young maiden, that is?”

Zeke ignored her remark and clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “Jerome has nothing to offer you. Without Jerome–”

 _You wouldn’t have had anything holding you back from killing Tatiana,_ went the fleeting thought in his mind, but he shoved it as far back as he could.

“Oh? And you think you can offer me something better?” Nuibaba threw back her head and laughed. Then, while wiping invisible tears of mirth from her eyes, she patted his cheek like she was sending off a child. “I never took you for one with a sense of humour, but I do appreciate it!”

Her nails dug into his skin, suddenly harsh. “But no, I’m afraid, I wouldn’t take your offer no matter what. You’ve been quite a thorn in my own side, so having you on Jerome’s leash makes my job easier.”

 _I wasn’t going to agree to anything,_ he wanted to snap back, but instead he took a long breath and tried to compose himself. “So… if I do as you say, you’ll… you’ll return her.”

Nuibaba shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“That’s not a good enough answer,” he started to say, but Nuibaba was grinning again and was caressing the last several strands of Tatiana’s hair clutched in her other hand.

He shut his mouth.

“Let me restate the deal. You do as Jerome says, and she remains unharmed.” Nuibaba explained, slowly, carefully. “If he wishes for you to fight, you fight. If he wishes for you to be quiet and leave him alone, you do just that.”

“I…” His throat tightened.

_I can’t put Tatiana at risk like this. This witch – she… she has Tatiana in her grasp._

Zeke could feel his hands trembling around his sword. _She’s all I have left. She’s everything to me. I can’t lose her. Not now, not…_

His sword clattered to the ground.

“I’ll assume that’s an agreement, then.” Nuibaba pressed her hands together and smiled. “Of course, you could change your mind whenever you like, but…”

“I understand.” He whispered.

“In that case,” Nuibaba took a step back. “Jerome will give you his first orders tomorrow morning. Or whenever you see each other next… though, don’t use the snowstorm as an excuse to meander off for too long.”

The air hazed over with purple.

“Wait! Tatiana – she’s…”

“She’ll be staying with me up on Fear Mountain for time being, just to make sure you do follow orders.” Nuibaba smiled. “Now, now, don’t give me that look. It’s rather comfortable up there, I’ll have to say… and I won’t lay a finger on her, I promise! At least, not until any part of the deal is broken – and that part is completely up to you, if you so desire…”

Nuibaba bowed mockingly; then she was gone. The rest of the lock of hair she had been holding scattered, fluttering to the ground with hardly a whisper.

Zeke stared blankly.

The fire crackled; warm and lifeless and uncaring of the heinous witch which had stood in front of it and threatened him and Tatiana in their own home.

_She’s… gone._

Everything was spinning. He stumbled, teetering to the right and letting himself crash against the wall in some half-hearted attempt to stand upright.

The snowstorm howled outside.

The warmth of the house was suddenly stifling rather than comforting, and he had dragged himself halfway to the door before he could even think. But even that took too much strength and energy that he did not have, and all he could do was kneel on the floor of the empty house and wonder about all the things he could have done but _didn’t_ – if there was even anything he could have done to have Tatiana safe and by his side and not _gone_.


	2. Chapter 2

Ink snaked across the page into something that vaguely resembled words and numbers. 

_It has been agreed that Rigel Village will provide an extra 20% of their harvest…_

His handwriting was blurring together before his eyes, but his hand moved of its own accord, or out of pure muscle memory, individual words emerging on the page yet their meaning instantly lost to his listless brain.

“Um, Sir, General Ezekiel…”

_…to further support the Rigelian Army. They will also be providing–_

“I was asked to… sir?” Someone leaned over his shoulder.

Zeke’s quill froze in place.

“I didn’t mean to bother you, sir, er, General Jerome asked me to deliver this to you… I’ll just, um, leave them here…”

A stack of papers was lowered to his desk.

“And your report, sir, General Jerome wanted it…” There was a pause. “Uh, I apologise for… offending you, if I am, sir, but your report… m-maybe it’s just me, but… I can’t really read your handwriting?”

Zeke slowly turned.

The junior knight, Rowan – hardly taller than he was when seated, with wide eyes and hair that nearly covered his eyes – gulped and took a step back. “I–I’m really sorry! I just, uh, I was going to say that General Jerome, he wanted the report done by tomorrow noon, but if you want I could tell him that maybe he could push it back–”

Zeke blinked and turned his attention back to his report. A puddle of ink was gathering beneath where he had pressed the tip of the quill into the paper, smudging over the last few letters – if they could be called letters at all. The rest of his writing wound together into an amalgamation of looping knots and jagged lines, and was otherwise completely illegible.

“…I mean, you seem pretty busy, general, er, and General Jerome would understand if you needed a little more time–”

“He wouldn’t.”

Rowan jumped and squeaked.

Zeke put down his quill with enough force to splinter the desk. “He wouldn’t care.” He repeated, voice rough – hoarse from lack of use. Mindlessly nodding and agreeing didn’t require much talking, after all.

“He wouldn’t hesitate to tear the world to shreds if life didn’t go exactly the way he wanted to.” Something hot swelled inside his chest, tight as a coil. “He would do it gladly, if it meant those beneath him would have less than he did. He’d make himself a witch’s pawn if he thought it would make him king–”

He snapped his mouth shut.

“…General Ezekiel?” Rowan said timidly, sparing a nervous glance over his own shoulder. “Maybe – maybe it’d be best to, er, not say it – here…”

Something snapped.

“I’m going to patrol.” Zeke stood up abruptly and strode out the door.

-x-x-x-

Despite the confusion of the other soldiers as he left (“Wait, where’s he going? Isn’t patrol until after lunch break?”), a couple of them apparently excused themselves from their current duties as well to join him.

Zeke hardly paid attention to them. The coolness of the steel lance in his grasp both fuelled the frustration welling up inside him and relieved him of it, and was the only thing tying him to reality as he marched to the stables.

He was almost glad he did not run into Jerome at all. It would have been almost too easy to run his lance through the man right where he stood, to rid himself of the troubles plaguing him in a crunch of bone and a spray of blood and watch the life leaving those soulless eyes.

But he wouldn’t be able to even reach Fear Mountain in time, never mind scale the perilous cliffs and slay Nuibaba where she stood. The idea had been tempting, but it was impossible – he had fantasised about the idea long enough to know. The idea taunted him, though, and with his lance in hand, he almost felt strong enough to do it–

_No… I cannot. Tatiana cannot suffer any further for the mistakes I’ve made…_

He tried to recall her face, her smile, her voice. The haziness of it – the fact he could hardly remember the lilting melody of her sweet humming or the softness of her hands, the lively light in her eyes – cast a darkness over him again, and the fiery anger in his chest flared up once more.

Zeke swung himself onto his horse’s back – whenever he had reached the stables he could not remember – and, with a snap of the reins, they were galloping away from the stifling cage of the military base and out onto the open plains, dusted with snow.

Zeke wasn’t any freer there, but at least the illusion of it would keep him sane for a little longer.

-x-x-x-

They ran into a group of brigands terrorising a merchant at the side of the road.

Zeke cut them down mercilessly. He plunged his lance through the chest of one, tearing it out and smashing the shaft over the head of another who tried to advance from behind; a sickening crack of bone and the blood spilling from their nose, then he put them out of their misery by running them through.

It was almost exhilarating, flinging himself into battle mindlessly and forgetting about all the problems that plagued him.

“Sir, watch out–!”

Something struck him in the side. He snarled, swinging his lance around and back; the spearhead tearing messily through a bandit’s chest and ending in a ragged gash through their neck. They collapsed with an airless wheeze, hands twitching and grasping at thin air.

The life drained from their eyes as he crushed their ribs under the hooves of his horse.

He dismounted quickly, his fingers nearly slipping off the edge of the saddle – leaving behind a smear of red on the worn leather. His fingers curled tight around his lance as he paced through the fallen bandits.

There was no movement around him.

Zeke finally let himself breathe and immediately a stabbing pain dug into his side. He hissed, staggering and whipping around to see who had dared lift a hand against him – but there was no one behind him.

“General Ezekiel, you’re injured – please, stop moving!” Someone rushed up to him and he nearly punched them in the face if not for the fact the strength had simply seeped out of him and into the snow. Their words only registered several seconds later, then next, the lance slipping out of his grip and the numbing cold against his knees.

“Quickly, the medical kit!” Someone barked.

Zeke groaned as hands took hold of him and turned him over on his back. Through a hazy vision; there was something sticking up next to him in the snow…

Someone took hold of the object and he hissed, back arching, at the sudden hot pain that seared his abdomen; he grabbed at it, at them, and it spilled over his fingers–

“Hold him down, get off his coat!”

His hands were wrested away from the bolt of agony in his stomach and pinned against the snow. Zeke growled and writhed beneath their grasp, breaths coming fast and shallow, but someone took hold of the object again and yanked it out in a single, swift movement.

Everything was a hazy blur after that. Zeke let himself fall limp, suddenly exhausted, as his soldiers fumbled over him – clothes being peeled aside, gauze being shoved against the wound, hands pressing down against his abdomen.

“Sir…?” Someone said quietly.

Zeke opened his eyes.

“You’re not usually this reckless; General Ezekiel, please, you have to be more careful!” Somebody else – Celia, he vaguely recalled – fussed, leaning over him with a roll of bandages in her hands.

Zeke could almost imagine Tatiana’s worried face, her adorable pout as she’d scold him–

_Ah… right. She’s not here. She’s gone._

Then – _No, she wouldn’t – she would never agree with behaviour like this. What would she have thought of me? Just because she’s not here doesn’t mean I should be acting like – like a…_

It took him a moment to realise what he was feeling – shame, welling up hot and fierce in the vast emptiness he had created himself. _She would be horrified at what I’ve become._

“I–I’m not sure what happened to the general, but he’s really been kind of… different ever since that big snowstorm a couple days ago, don’t you think?”

“Shush!” Celia pulled just a little too hard on the bandages wrapped around his abdomen and Zeke winced. “Ah, apologies, sir.”

They elapsed into silence. There was nothing but the feeling of snow crunching under his hands – his palms were flat down against the snow, but there was no one holding him down anymore – and the occasional stabs of pain as the rest of the bandages were folded into place.

Somebody leaned down to tend to his hands. His fingertips stung as they pried his hands away from the snow; he’d grabbed the sword – or knife, he wasn’t sure – by the blade, he vaguely realised, judging from the dozens of thin lacerations across his palms.

It was also very, very cold.

“I think we’ve stemmed the bleeding for now, but we should get you back to the base for an actual healer to patch you up.” A pause. “Can you stand?”

Zeke did not want to stand.

_I don’t want to go back. I just want this to be over… I just want Tatiana back._

A gasp. “Your – Sir Ezekiel, your lover…? You mean, she–?”

Zeke grimaced and opened his eyes again, snapping his mouth shut. Judging from the nervous glances his soldiers were casting at each other…

“Don’t say a word about this to anyone. Especially not Jerome.” He hissed, lurching upright and mustering the harshest glare he could; but the sympathetic, pitying looks he was getting told him he wasn’t as intimidating as he would’ve hoped.

“Sir…” Someone – Rowan – said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

The energy drained out of him in an instant.

“…she’s all I have.” His voice cracked, but nobody said a word. “I _have_ to do what he tells me, otherwise Tatiana will– she’ll…”

“I’m sorry.”

There wasn’t much anyone else could say.

The wind picked up. His wound throbbed, and as he pressed a hand against it, the exterior of the bandages came away spotted with blood.

_…if I die now, there’s nothing stopping Nuibaba from killing her._

Zeke heaved a wavering sigh and struggled upright, pushing himself to his feet with a throbbing hand. “Let’s go back.”


	3. Chapter 3

Weeks passed by. They felt more like months, or even years, achingly long and weary, and the particularly cold temperatures didn’t help with that. Even with spring soon arriving, there was still snow and frost dusted over every surface, and Zeke knew well enough the struggles all the villages on the Plains were facing with feeding themselves due to the reports he had been put in charge of.

The news arrived: the Deliverance had taken over Zofia and was to invade Rigel, and with Rigel Plains being just along the border, their entire regiment was sent out to defend against the Zofians.

Jerome was in charge, as usual, but even the man himself had been dragged out to actually do work on the field like the rest of them did. Jerome didn’t look particularly happy with that – and Zeke couldn’t help but feel just a little smug about that, though not by much, because Jerome had grown twice as irritable and tried to threaten Tatiana twice as much whenever they crossed roads.

But Zeke knew that this was the moment that Jerome simply couldn’t do anything, because he needed _him_ on the battlefield. So Zeke brushed aside his attempts and focused on his job, which was already busy enough as it was.

Then came the long awaited battle.

“There they are, sir,” Rowan mumbled, gazing out over the Plains with his bow in hand. “They’re here…”

Zeke squinted. All he could see was a black smudge on the horizon, and the wintry greyness of the sky – despite the thawing of ground and grass below – made it difficult to see. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir! U-um, I think so…” Rowan shaded his eyes. “Unless Emperor Rudolf decided to send over an army from Fear Mountain for some reason, then…”

His heart jumped at the mention of Nuibaba’s abode. Zeke cleared his throat and looked out over the plains again. “In that case…”

“Ezekiel!”

The sound of his name roused him from his thoughts. Zeke turned to see Jerome, completely suited up in armour as well and accompanied by what appeared to be a scout. Jerome gestured at him with a finger. “Come here!”

Zeke inclined his head at Rowan. “Notify everyone.”

“Yes, sir!” The archer ran off, stumbling as he went. Zeke turned on his heel and strode over to Jerome, who looked surprisingly dour for once.

“I’m here, sir.” And even though he knew exactly what Jerome was going to order him to do, he asked anyway. “You have need of me?”

Jerome gestured out at the growing black smudge on the horizon with a hand, lip curled up in a displeased scowl. “The Zofian rabble will be upon us in due time. Prepare to intercept them – we will cut them down where they stand.”

Zeke nodded wordlessly.

“And mind your allegiances wisely.” A cruel and mocking smile cut across Jerome’s face like a knife. “If I smell even a whiff of betrayal, you know what will happen.”

Jerome patted him on the shoulder with just a little more force than necessary and marched away, presumably to prepare for the upcoming fight as well. Zeke stared after him, a thin-lipped frown crossing his own face.

_Tatiana…_

“Sir!” Zeke turned to see Celia rapidly approach, her horse in tow. “We’ve saddled up your horse for you! Everyone’s set and ready to go.”

“…good.” Zeke spared the approaching army a final glance, then the craggy mountains towering behind them. He stifled a sigh and nodded. “…we march on Jerome’s orders.”

-x-x-x-

Jerome’s strategy was to wait across the river cutting across the Rigel Plains. ‘They’ll have to funnel through the bridges’, he had said, ‘So we wait for them to approach us.’

So they waited.

Zeke had never been swayed by fear of battle, but for some inexplicable reason his heart was pounding. He studied the blur of faces across the river, the gleam of their armour under the dull grey sky, for something – he wasn’t quite sure for what, but there was this sense, this _something_ –

“They’re nearly here.” One of his soldiers murmured, fidgeting with the lance in their grip.

“What? You scared? The Emperor’s relying on us to protect everyone from those Zofians.” There was a waver to Celia’s voice, but she straightened her back and glared fixedly out at the horizon. “We’re defenders of Rigel and the people. We’ve gotta – gotta fight here, even if this is where we fall.”

“Fall…? We’re – we’re not going to fall here… we won’t lose, we have General Ezekiel on our side…! But, er, I don’t mean to offend, sir…”

Zeke listened to his troops mumble amongst themselves and kept his gaze fixed in front of himself. Jerome hadn’t moved or spoken from where he and his troops were gathered in front of the other fortress, apparently still waiting for the Deliverance to descend upon them.

He could pick out the Zofians’ faces at this distance. They were almost at the river now, and with shields and weapons raised in a bristling wall, they certainly didn’t look like the soft and unbothered people that Rigel had painted them to be.

But even so, he did not falter. He would not falter, as long as it meant he was doing his duty and didn’t give Jerome an excuse to snatch Tatiana away from him. Zeke spared a glance at Jerome and prepared to raise his voice.

“Zeke!”

 _Time to end this now._ He lifted his hand and his troops immediately fell silent. But the rest of Jerome’s order didn’t follow the shout. In fact, Jerome never referred to him as Zeke… that was a nickname reserved only for–

“ _Zeke!_ ”

He lifted his head and his eyes widened. There was a woman, hair the colour of seafoam and spring, running up to the edge of the river on the opposite side, waving her arms as if her life depended on it–

“Tatiana? But how–?!” It came out as a breathless whisper the first time, so hushed that even he nearly couldn’t hear it. Zeke raised his voice and shouted her name again, and couldn’t help but choke out something that felt like a giddy laugh as she shouted his name again in return. He could see her face, they were that close; she was jumping up and down and crying and smiling all at once, and he was so close to doing the same, though the restless murmurs of his troops reminded him that he actually had a reputation to uphold.

“I was saved by the Deliverance! You know what this means?” Tatiana cupped her hands around her mouth. “It means you don’t have to heed another word Jerome says!”

“I–”

_I don’t…? Jerome doesn’t have Tatiana anymore… Nuibaba doesn’t – does this mean… Nuibaba is dead–?_

He couldn’t scarcely imagine it, but the fact that Tatiana was standing there was all the proof he needed. He would’ve slumped in his saddle in relief if not for the fact that Jerome was right there – and there was a battle to be fought.

“Thank you, Tatiana. Now you have saved me as well.”

He lifted his head. His battalion were all watching him, eyes searching his.

“That’s – that’s her, isn’t it, sir?”

“Tatiana’s free.” Zeke’s grip tightened around his lance as he cast a final look towards Tatiana, who was now accompanied by another knight – his heart jumped at the sight and he had to remind himself that the Deliverance was helping her, therefore not his enemy…

“We’re with you, General Ezekiel.” Celia said, before he even had to speak. Her eyes were bright and blazing with a newfound determination. “Just give us the orders, and we’ll do it.”

“…very well.” Zeke tightened his grip on the reins and lifted his lance. “We march on Jerome’s army! Prepare to attack!”

-x-x-x-

Zeke was not a person who delighted in killing, but running Jerome through with his lance was the most freeing thing he could have imagined.

The next had to be when Tatiana came running up to him – through the battle and bloodshed and swinging weapons, which was already dying away now that they realised Jerome had fallen – and Zeke catching her in his arms after practically leaping off his horse and rushing to meet her.

“You’re here, you’re–” Tatiana muffled a sob and squeezed him hard, though with her frail arms – Zeke winced at the sight of them, she was so small and fragile – she hardly felt heavier than a feather. He wrapped his arms around her, tenderly, carefully, as if she would break if he squeezed too hard in return.

But it was so hard to hold back when she was _here_ and safe and in his arms after so, so long so he settled for mumbling meaningless nonsense against the top of her head and running his hands through her hair: _”I’m sorry, this is my fault, they should have never taken you…”_

He made a noise of protest as she pulled back, but her thumb on his cheek silenced him.

“Don’t say that,” Tatiana whispered, a glassy sheen over her wide eyes. She blinked away tears and cupped his cheek in her palm, her hands trembling. “It’s not your fault… please, don’t say such things.”

 _But it’s true, and if I didn’t constantly anger Jerome by getting in his way, this would have never happened,_ he wanted to say, but it was hard to speak when the full intensity of Tatiana’s doleful eyes was on him – and the fact his own throat was tightening and there was a whole host of emotions threatening to spill from his chest.

Instead, he took her hands in his own, and wordlessly pressed his forehead against hers. Tatiana sighed against his lips and – oh, she was shaking…

“I missed you so much, Zeke, I… I’m so glad you’re here.”

“As I am with you, my sweet.” His own voice was wavering, too, but at this point he could hardly care for what anyone else thought of him.

Somewhere nearby, Celia stepped hard on Rowan’s foot and dragged him away to let the two lovers have their peace.

“We’ll never have to face that witch again,” she mumbled, trembling in his arms. “Or Jerome, or…!”

“Shh, don’t speak of them now.” His heart twisted at the thought of her having to endure Nuibaba’s cruelties each day, but he pushed that aside in favour of holding her tight and soothing her with kisses until her shaking waned. “You’re safe and that’s all I can ever ask for.”

_And it feels like more than I thought I would ever get, but… she’s finally here. Tatiana’s safe. She’s back._

“…and I promise I’ll protect you with my life – I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”


End file.
